


feel my heart beat now

by evanstans (sorrylovebut)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nightmares, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3536048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylovebut/pseuds/evanstans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve just laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>Now it’s Natasha’s turn to look at him oddly. “You live in a Tower with two master scientists, two master assassins, an intuitive wingman, and an amnesiac asset, and you honestly expect us not to pick up on these things?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel my heart beat now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngelycDevil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelycDevil/gifts).



> many thanks to [aj](http://captainsmallbutt.tumblr.com) for the beta and to [tania](http://buckyspanties.tumblr.com) for being my favorite idiot. i love you both very much. our skype conversations make me a changed human <333 
> 
> title from sledgehammer by 5th harmony (listen to the song while reading this and i guarantee you you'll laugh even harder at the cuteness in this fic)
> 
> i chose the prompt that asked for steve giving bucky small meaningful gifts as his way of working through what happened. i also made it a getting together fic because im a sucker. i hope this fulfills your prompt sweetie! ♡
> 
> i have to say that i had a lot of fun writing this. im not normally a fluff person, mainly because i dont feel like i write it very well, but this prompt was awesome, and totally ran with it. i really hope you enjoy reading it :)

+

 

“I can’t believe you.” 

“What?” Steve mumbles around his mouthful of cereal. Clint just stares at him.

“Oh my _God._ Bro. You’re so whipped.”

Natasha smacks him upside the head. “Heeeeey, play nice.”

“Don’t be an idiot then,” Natasha says. Clint pouts.

Steve just laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Now it’s Natasha’s turn to look at him oddly. “You live in a Tower with two master scientists, two master assassins, an intuitive wingman, and an amnesiac asset, and you honestly expect us not to pick up on these things?”

“You practically eye fuck him across the dinner table every night, regardless. The only people who don’t know are the two of you.” Clint mumbles from behind Natasha’s hand, licking Natasha’s palm to get her to yank her hand away. 

Steve chokes on his spoonful of Lucky Charms. “Excuse me? 

Natasha waves him off. “Don’t act all innocent, Rogers. We know about your little project.

The elevator door dings, and Bucky walks into the room, delicately holding a small teddy bear out away from his body. Steve’s eyes widen, just barely fighting back the strangled noise threatening to escape his lips.

“This is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I want it gone,” Bucky says, entering the kitchen from the elevator.

In his hands he has a Bucky Bear, one of the ones they used to make during the war to celebrate the amazing Captain America and Bucky duo. Steve had bought one from Amazon a few weeks back, and had gone through extensive measures to make sure that Bucky hadn’t seen it arrive. After the fiasco with Clint opening up one of Tony’s packages (Steve doesn’t think he’s recovered yet, glitter and silicone still etched deep into his mind) as a joke, Tony had set up solid security protocols to make sure that didn’t happen again. Namely, he paraded around the Tower and started yelling about how there will be no invasion of personal privacy in his tower. Sam had told him to shove it right up his ass. Clint had screamed about

That had been the end of the discussion.

Between wrapping paper and Jarvis, Steve had succeeded in getting it inside the Tower with no hassle, and no prying eyes. He had also managed to slip past Natasha’s intense gaze and plant the bear on Bucky’s bed while he was out grocery shopping with Bruce.

Evidently, Bucky had found it. Steve swallows.

Clint laughs. “It’s adorable. Holy shit.”

Bucky looks distraught. “I know. I _know,_ that’s the problem. I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Cuddle it, maybe?” Steve suggests.

Clint’s jaw drops, but Natasha’s hands are clamping down tightly over his lips before he can say anything.

“More like throw it out,” Bucky says, giving it a firm squeeze. “Dear God, it’s precious. I’m honest to God confused.” 

Clint licks Natasha’s palm in an effort to get her hand away from his mouth for the second time that morning. “It even has a little mini version of your World War II uniform on it. Aww.” 

Bucky blinks slowly. “You’re absolutely useless Clint, y’know that? Alright you know what, I’m sure I’ll figure something out eventually.”

“Are you actually gonna throw it out?” Steve calls, trying not to let disappointment seep into his tone.

“Hell no,” Bucky yells back as he heads for the common room. “This thing is staying with me forever.”

“Oh my God,” Clint says, throwing his hands up into the air in submission. Natasha looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

Steve doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of today.

 

+

 

“You gave him- a goddamn- _Bucky Bear_ \- I fucking _hate_ you…”

“Clint,” Steve says with amusement as he holds the bag steady as Clint repeatedly punches it. “Are you ever going to move past that?”

“It was too perfect,” Clint moans, punching the bag three times in quick succession for effect. Two days had passed since the last incident with Steve Rogers’ Massive Plan To Get Bucky Barnes To Fall In Love With Him. 

Clint punches the bag particularly hard on the fourth time. He groans loudly. “It was too perfect and cute and gross. And beyond sappy. Honest to God Rogers, you’re a menace."

Steve smiles wickedly as Clint resumes his punches. After a few more minutes, Steve gets bored.

“Your turn,” Steve says, stepping away so they can switch positions. Clint takes three gigantic steps back as Steve assumes his position.

“If I hold that thing while you punch it, you’ll send me flying into the wall. Where’s your amnesiac boyfriend? Get him to do it for you.”

“Okay one, he’s not an amnesiac anymore. I don’t understand why everyone keeps referring to him like that. And two, he’s not my boyfriend. Three, I don’t kn-”

“It happened again,” a familiar voice, albeit strangled around the edges. “The cute. It happened again.”

“What is it this time?” Clint asks, grabbing a clean towel from the bench. Steve turns to face Bucky, hope welling up inside his chest.

Bucky looks vaguely horrified. “It’s a picture of me. But it’s so well done; it looks like a goddamn photograph. And I’m smiling and laughing and- it makes me want to smile just looking at it. What kind of awful human being would _ever_ …”

“Someone who cares about you an awful lot, apparently,” Clint states, and Steve is _so_ going to punch that for him later.

The picture- the drawing, more accurately - is something Steve’s been fleshing out for months. He had referenced his own memory more than old photographs that were displayed at the Smithsonian. He had carefully sketched (destroying at least 3 dozen poor sketchbooks in the process) the outline of his fondest memory of Bucky. It’s a drawing of him leaning over the Brooklyn bridge, elbows propped up on the wood with his face to the sun, smiling up at the sky like he didn’t have a care in the world.

It makes Steve smiling just remembering that day. He recognizes that Bucky doesn’t remember the specifics, because if he did, he would know that there was only one person who could draw that. Right now, it just looks like anyone that knew he grew up in Brooklyn could draw that.

“Has this person left a note with any of these yet? I bet Tony could analyze the handwriting and cross reference it with a database to find who the person is or some whacky science-y shit like that.”

That punches a laugh from Bucky’s chest, a deep rumble that makes Steve’s chest swell with warmth. “I think I’m alright. They actually haven’t, and even if they did, I don’t think I’d use it to try and solve the mystery. It’s rather fun getting random stuff. Makes me happy.”

“Good,” Steve says without saying. Bucky tilts his head confusedly and Clint’s eyes widen. Steve realizes his slip up and fumbles to fix it. “I mean, I think that’s a good idea. The person probably doesn’t want you to know, just yet. You know what they used to say. Best presents come last and all.”

“You _totally_ just pulled that out of your ass, Rogers, no one used to say that,” Bucky says as he breaks down into boisterous laughs. Steve shrugs, grinning as Bucky calms down a bit.

“Alright, I’m off to show this off and then talk to Sam,” Bucky rolls his eyes. Sam smiles softly.

Sam had offered to talk to Bucky within two weeks after Bucky had shown up at the entrance to Stark Tower, looking less like a weapon and more like a human. The rest of the team had immediately swung into action; Tony and Bruce doing diagnostics on the metal arm, making sure there were no Hydra failsafes left that would put Bucky (and the safety of the entire Tower) in danger. Natasha had talked him through a sort of expedited decommissioning session. Thor had even shown up for a bit, saying that any magic or resource of Asgard they needed was open to their use. Sam and Clint had hung back for a bit, focusing more on making sure Steve was okay and letting Natasha walk Bucky through the beginning of recovery.

And Steve? Steve hadn’t slept for a week.

Sam had approached Bucky about therapy a few months down the road. Bucky had insisted he didn’t need it, and Sam had gently reminded him of the three months straight of waking up from vivid nightmares, stained red and black and white; the color of blood and darkness and ice.

Bucky had reluctantly agreed; and found that it actually helped a lot. Steve still doesn’t know how he’s going to thank Sam for keeping him sane as Tony and Natasha worked to uncover all of the memories that had been hidden from him for so long.

“Later losers,” Bucky says, flipping them both off as he returns to the elevator. Steve laughs a little, shaking his head as he steps into the shaft.

“That is honestly disgusting,” Clint deadpans as the elevator doors close. Steve rolls his eyes because _honestly._

“You’re just jealous.”

“Shut the hell up, I’ve practically got a ring around her finger anyway.”

“You talked to her about that yet?” Steve teases.

Clint narrows his eyes as he walks over to the bench to rewrap his hands. “I’ll punch you in the neck, Rogers.”

“I’d like to see you try, Barton.”

 

+

 

Bucky wakes up screaming that night for the first time in months.

“Don’t touch him!” Bucky screams when Steve arrives, thrashing wildly under the sheets. _“Don't hurt him, hurt me,”_ but that’s in a language Steve can only assume is Russian. Steve runs to his bedside as his movements turn violent, grabbing one of Bucky’s wrists in the air and pushing it back towards the pillow. He narrowly avoids the punch that Bucky throws with his metal fist, ducking down and away from the attempt but still keeping Bucky’s right fist pressed to the bed.

Bucky wakes up with a start, looking horrified when Steve tentatively lets his hand go. He tries hard to disguise the terror under the surface as he backs away from Bucky’s sweaty figure.

“Oh God, Steve, I’m- I’m so sorry,” he says, completely stricken. He yanks his hands away, like he can’t bear to have them in Steve’s sight.

“You’re okay,” Steve says gently. “You’re alright.”

“No,” Bucky croaks, pressing his palms roughly against his eyes. “No. I was doing so well. They had gone away. Why did they have to come back?”

Steve swallows, heart lodged in his throat. “It’s alright, Buck. You’re safe.”

Bucky makes a noise that’s all to close to a cry. Steve’s heart breaks into a million jagged pieces. “Dammit. _Dammit._ I’m so tired of this.”

Steve kisses his forehead on a whim, leaning forward to press his lips chastely against Bucky’s forehead. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry." 

Bucky says nothing, and Steve feels awful about what he just did. Steve pulls away after that, standing from the bed. He looks back when he reaches the door to see Bucky staring at him, sheets wrapped loosely around his waist. The metal of his arm is refracting the moonlight streaming in from the window. It punches Steve right in the gut, how gorgeously distraught Bucky is.

“I’m here if you need me; you know that, right?”

Bucky tilts his head as he looks at Steve. He swallows thickly. “Yeah, Stevie. I know." 

Steve nods his head, turning away from Bucky’s room and heading for his own. He arrives back, feeling numb around the edges. He stares out of the window by his bed for a long time after that; trying to figure out how he’s to make it out of this one.

He comes up frustratingly empty.

 

+

 

It's another few days before Steve strikes again. Clint, Natasha, and Steve are all relaxing after a particularly rough debrief.

“Bucky?” Clint asks, concern in his voice. Steve looks up from his sketchbook, and Natasha mutes the T.V. “You alright, buddy?”

“I… I don’t know,” Bucky says, honestly. He’s been trying that lately, the being honest about his feelings. Steve has no doubt that this new initiative has come about as encouragement by Sam.

“What’s in your hand?” Natasha asks. Clint’s jaw drops.

“Wait, are those your…”

“I don’t know-” Bucky says helplessly, staring down at the dog tags in his hand. “I don’t know who would even have access to these.

“The Smithsonian?” Clint says, mouth full as he reaches for another donut.

“Why would they give them back, though?”

“Maybe the person who had them felt that you deserved to have them back,” Natasha says, looking from Steve to Bucky.

“I wish I knew who it was so I could thank them properly,” Bucky murmurs, holding the tags out by the chain. He takes a deep breath, and slides them on over his neck.

Steve’s breath hitches.

“This is… it’s kind of weird, I’ll be honest,” Bucky says, laughing like he’s still in shock.

“You look good, buddy,” Clint says, voice full of warmth. Natasha looks at Bucky with a soft gaze.

“I feel good,” Bucky says. “Feel whole.”

He takes his leave after that and Steve has to excuse himself. He goes to his room and looks out his window at the busy streets of Brooklyn and spares a thought for how much things have changed.

It’s a weird juxtaposition. He knows that there’s an AI in the walls capable of finding out anything he needs at the drop of a hat. He knows that the rest of his team are all well versed in 21st century combat skills, and he’s learning. He knows he still feels alone, sometime. Just because Bucky’s back doesn’t mean he himself is completely fixed and completely healthy.

He looks out onto the streets below him and sees a city he’ll never truly come to know as home again.

But then he looks at Bucky, and it’s like the rest of that is background noise.

He looks at _Bucky_ , and he feels at home.

 

+

 

“Jarvis, could you get Bucky to come here?”

“Certainly, sir,” the voice replies, and Steve flops back on his bed. 

Bucky appears a few minutes later, his hair pulled back in a messy bun. He looks fucking cute as hell, and Steve’s heart actually flutters in his chest.

“You had Stark’s AI fetch me instead of coming to get me yourself? You’re getting lazy in your old age, Rogers.”

Steve just rolls his eyes, and doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“Thanks Wall Man,” Bucky says, mock saluting as he collapses to sit on the bed. That’s a thing with Bucky, the never calling Jarvis ‘Jarvis’. It’s always buddy or Wall Man, but never Jarvis. Steve hasn’t ever asked why.

“Of course, sir.”

“Come here, ass,” Steve says. Bucky rolls his eyes but obliges, sitting in a way so that he’s facing Steve.

“Yes dear?” he says teasingly. Steve smiles.

“Take your shirt off,” Steve says, turning away from Bucky’s figure to reach under his bed, fumbling for the box.

When he turns back, Bucky is blinking slowly at him. “Now Captain,” he starts in a voice that’s all Brooklyn and makes Steve’s heart pound in his chest. “I appreciate the sentiment, but don’t ya think we’re movin’ a little fast-”

“Oh my God, shut _up_ ,” Steve laughs. “You idiot, that’s not what I meant. I just need to see your arm.”

Bucky rolls the sleeve up over his right arm, tucking it under his armpit and turning to face Steve. Steve gives him a small smile.

“The other one,” he murmurs. 

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat, and his mouth falls open slightly when Steve looks at him.

“Alright,” Bucky says quietly, reaching for the collar of his shirt and yanking it up over his head. He turns around on the bed so he’s facing Steve with his left side, looking to the opposite wall so he doesn’t have to look at Steve yet. It’s probably for the best, because Steve’s mouth is hanging open in a rather unflattering way, gaping awkwardly as he looks at the metal.

The thing is, Bucky is beautiful. He takes Steve’s breath away whether he’s dressed to his nines in a three-piece suit at one of Stark’s parties or in an oversized hoodie at breakfast. He probably looks 9 times as beautiful when it’s just him, just skin, endless scars that all tell his story, that all tell the world _‘I survived’._

Steve swallows, reaching out to touch the place where scarred skin meets metal. Bucky flinches, sucking his lower lip between his teeth, but he doesn’t tell Steve to stop, or shrug him off.

“You gonna do something or are you just gonna ogle me all day, Rogers?” Bucky says, slightly strained. Steve laughs wetly.

“You’re still such an _ass,_ ” he says. He brings the black box out then, placing it precariously in his lap. Bucky looks down to where he’s sifting through his nice paints, furrowing his brow in slight confusion.

“Just wait,” Steve murmurs. He pulls out a deep red and an elegant blue, finding his pure white somewhere along the bottom. “Alright; now don’t freaking move. And don’t look at it until it’s done.”

Bucky groans as Steve starts. “But I wanna see,” he whines. Steve chuckles.

“You never did like surprises,” Steve laughs as he continues painting. Bucky huffs.

“Need I remind you that this is _my_ arm you’re smearing paint all over?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to concentrate. Shut up.”

“Punk,” Bucky breathes, and Steve’s stomach flips.

“Jerk,” Steve mutters, steadying his breathing. He finishes the band of blue around the white of the star that’s now covering that _awful_ red star. Bucky once told him how he felt that it was a constant reminder of the grip Hydra and Russia had on his body, his mind, and Steve had vowed right then and there that he would change it.

So far, it’s taken a few coats of white to get it to where there is no faint pink, absolutely no sign that anyone but Steve has been there before.

Steve’s stomach twists and he lets out a little gasp, just barely holding back a strangled noise. How he thought he could do this without all of these feeling bubbling back to the surface and taking over, Steve’s got no idea.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky says calmly, and Steve’s eyes snap up to his face. He’s looking forward out of the window of Steve’s room, chest rising and falling slowly. He looks at peace, with the world _and_ himself, and it makes Steve’s heart lurch in his chest.

“Nothing,” Steve says out of breath. “Nothing.”

Bucky looks at him oddly, but follows orders, and doesn’t look any lower than Steve’s face.

Steve paints quickly but accurately, finishing the first red band before starting in on the white. He’s doing a pretty damn good job of not letting the colors run, getting the color dark enough that it looks damn near perfect, but also not using so much paint to the point where red starts to slide into white.

As he starts in on the final red enclosure, Steve pauses. He realizes how goddamn cheesy all of this is; the Bucky Bear, the picture, the dog tags, and now this. He hopes like hell Bucky doesn’t think it’s stupid. He shakes all of that away and focusing on finishing the final piece.

“Now we’ve gotta wait for this to dry. Just give it like 10 minutes, alright?” Steve says. Bucky groans and mutters something in Russian under his breath. Steve doesn’t catch it, but he’s sure it’s rather unflattering.

“Alright,” Steve breathes. They’ve been at it for about half an hour when Steve finally dunks all of his paintbrushes into the cup of water he has sitting on his nightstand. “You can look now.”

Bucky jumps up and runs to the mirror attached to the wall right outside Steve’s closet. He turns to his right so his left shoulder his showing in the mirror, and his eyes widen when he sees what Steve’s painted on.

“It’s not- it’s not like it’s permanent or anything, not even close, but at least you’re not staring at that red star-” Steve babbles before closing his mouth, flushing deeply when Bucky looks at him, mouth opening and closing around words he can’t find.

“Oh my God,” Bucky chokes, stepping forward. Steve’s eyes widen in alarm and he scrambles back up the bed until his back hits the headboard. “I’m so stupid, oh my God, you fucking asshole, it was _you_.”

Steve does a double take as Bucky crawls up onto the bed. He distantly calculates the time it would take to get to his shield as Bucky pulls his ankles apart slightly, just enough so that Steve’s legs fall open.

“Come again?” Steve breathes, still in a state of mild alarm. Bucky crawls into his lap with one fumbling movement, locking both arms around Steve’s neck as he settles both thighs around Steve’s legs. Steve’s hands grip Bucky’s hips instinctively to balance them both before he winces, letting Bucky go in case he’s misreading this. Bucky laughs, reaching behind his waist to grab Steve’s hands and plant them back on his hips where he wants them.

“It was you,” Bucky murmurs, thumbs stroking the nape of Steve’s neck. “The bear, the picture, the dog tags. They were all you.”

Steve gulps, blushing so hard he’s sure it spreads down his neck. “Well, I mean…”

Bucky laughs out of disbelief, like he can’t believe Steve is real, and he brings Steve’s face up to his, pressing their lips together tightly. Steve’s breath catches and his grip on Bucky’s hips tighten, and he’s suddenly very aware of the fact that Bucky’s shirtless.

Bucky pulls away first, the seal between their mouths breaking with a gentle smack. Bucky presses their foreheads together, still holding Steve’s face between both hands.

“I’m so fucking gone for you, you absolute idiot,” Bucky breathes, and Steve damn near loses his shit right there.

“I wasn’t sure,” Steve says honestly. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted- if you were _ready-_ ”

“Is this enough proof?” Bucky murmurs, the air in the room suddenly shifting to something that’s suffocating in an entirely different manner. Steve smirks, hands sliding from Bucky’s hips to the small of his back. His large palm is splayed out across the small of his back and Bucky shivers.

“Dunno. Not sure I’m convinced.”

Bucky makes a noise, grip on Steve’s neck tightening. “I actually think you’re more of a tease now than you were 70 years ago.”

Steve grips Bucky’s hips again, flipping them over in one smooth movement. He knocks the covers away before he leans down, back arching into a perfect curve as he leans down to kiss at Bucky’s neck.

Bucky actually does moan then, and then fucking mewls when Steve grabs his hands and pushes them above his head. Steve knows Bucky could break it now, if he really wanted to, but Steve also knows he won’t. He links their fingers together, pressing them tighter into the pillow. Bucky’s back arches beautifully under Steve’s touch, and it takes Steve’s breath away.

It’s got to be a pretty picture; their chests pushed together, backs arched so that they can press impossibly closer. Steve is in a position that should instill dominance, but instead reminds them that they’re both just as powerless around each other.

“You were a toppy little bitch back then too,” Bucky says breathlessly, hitching his legs up around Steve’s waist. He rolls his hips, pressing the hard outline in his sweatpants against Steve’s hips. 

Steve groans. “ _Shit._ You - oh, _fuck_ , Bucky, Jesus, don’t you dare - you make me like this.

Bucky’s got his hands down the back of Steve’s sweatpants, fingers kneading the firm flesh of Steve’s ass. Bucky looks up at him, feigning innocence. 

“You saying I make you crazy, Rogers?”

Steve’s mouth falls open and he leans back, ripping his shirt off of his chest. Bucky sighs happily, like they’re finally getting somewhere where Bucky is completely happy. Steve shrugs off his pants too, leaving himself completely bare before he returns his attention back to Bucky. Bucky lets his legs fall against the bed in a silent invitation. Steve leans forward, lips pressing against Bucky’s hip as he slides Bucky’s sweatpants and underwear off together in one movement.

“You make me…” Steve murmurs, grabbing Bucky hips again and tugging them down so that he can grind against Bucky, “fucking _insane_.”

Bucky’s eyes slip shut before opening wide, pulling Steve down for a hard kiss. He uses his palms to roll the two of him over, resuming his position in Steve’s lap. He fumbles blindly for the drawer in Steve’s nightstand, kissing Steve sloppily as he gets distracted. He finds what he’s looking for, pulling the small bottle out of the drawer. He fights the urge to make a joke about Captain America having lube in his drawer, because his eyes meet Steve’s again, and they’re filled with desire and love and lust, and Bucky can’t fucking stand the lack of action.

“Let me,” Bucky gasps, wrapping his right hand around both of them. Steve hisses, head knocking back against the headboard. “Oh fuck,” Bucky moans at the first touch of their hard cocks, hips lurching forward of their own accord.

Steve’s chest is heaving, his thumb rubbing at the base of Bucky’s neck to silently encourage him. Steve doesn’t trust his own voice right now, and Bucky’s still as fucking vocal as he was the last time they did this, fucking decades ago.

He’s making these small noises that spur Steve on, the only other noise in the room being the slick movements of Bucky’s hand wrapped around them both. Steve reaches up, grips the back of Bucky’s neck tightly and squeezes.

“Buck,” Steve moans, thighs tensing. “Buck, Bucky-”

“Christ,” Bucky gaps, keening when Steve’s nails scratch into his neck. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, spilling over between the two of them. Bucky’s cock pulses against Steve’s as he comes. Steve flushes white hot, bringing Bucky’s head down for a hard kiss as Bucky shakes through his own orgasm. The soft sounds Bucky is making as he comes down from must have been intense steal Steve’s own pleasure from him. His breath gets punched out of him as he comes hard, digging his nails in deep. Bucky shudders again and Steve distantly catalogues his newfound knowledge for a later day. 

Bucky’s chest is still heaving when he lets himself fall away from Steve’s lap. Steve wipes his sweaty palms over his face. He lazily uses part of his sheets to wipe off the drying come on his stomach and Bucky does the same.

“That’s actually gross,” Bucky says and Steve laughs.

“I didn’t here you complaining a minute ago.”

“Whatever. Watch Clint and Natasha walk in here right now,” Bucky says, grinning. Steve laughs, throwing his right arm over his face.

“Oh my God, I don’t think poor Clint would ever recover.”

Bucky snorts. “The man will be fine.”

A comfortable silence lies between them for a few long minutes. Steve’s breathing evens out, and the room is damn near completely silent, save for the sounds of their gentle breathing and their heartbeats.

“I’m still a broken man, Steve,” Bucky says gently as he plays with Steve’s fingers where they lay on Steve’s stomach, metal gliding along skin. Steve turns his head towards Bucky, running his left hand up and down Bucky’s back, across his shoulder blades.

“And you think I’m not?” Steve says. Bucky shrugs, pressing in closer.

“Fair point.”

“Neither of us are the same we were back then. I know a long time ago you said that you weren’t ready to attempt the whole romance thing again. I just want to make sure.”

Bucky tilts his head up to look Steve in the eyes. “I’m sure. I’m not sure about what happened in the summer of 1939, or the fall of 1943, but I am sure about you. You’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t want anything else,” Steve teases.

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Bucky says after a heartbeat of silence. “You gotta know that.”

Steve smiles, kisses his forehead. “I would expect nothing less from the great James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, laughing when he rolls himself on top of Steve again.

The next few hours are filled laughter and light and fun, more than either of them has had in 70 years.

When all is said and done, Steve thinks his master plan worked out pretty damn well.


End file.
